


November 1st

by StackerPentecost



Series: November Writing Prompts [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 16:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16496519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StackerPentecost/pseuds/StackerPentecost
Summary: Matt's gone now. Too bad Frank was too busy fighting with him to give him time to say goodbye.This is part of a November Prompt List with one prompt per day.The one for November 1st is 'Suitcase'.





	November 1st

He had to see it everyday. It was sitting in their bedroom near the door and every single time he laid down on his side of the bed to sleep, he found himself looking right at it. The ache it caused was way too damn strong for a suitcase. 

He was going to leave, that’s what he said. Couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stand being around someone with a death wish the way he had. Which was ironic considering Matt was the same way. Maybe that was why it didn’t work. They were just too damn alike. Burned so hot in each other’s presence that the anger roiling beneath was a fire threatening to overwhelm everything. 

They’d gotten into fights before, this certainly wasn’t their first. They’d known each other for years and had been having arguments since the beginning. It was their normal, in a way. So much so that Frank didn’t know how to function when things were calm in their little Hell’s Kitchen apartment. 

But neither of them had ever left. Maybe gone out to let off a little steam but never decided to give up and walk out. That was the thing, despite all the bullshit and the arguing and the heated fights, in the end they actually cared about each other. For both Matt and Frank, that wasn’t something you just took for granted. Both of them had grown up in less than ideal circumstances and had ended up losing everyone that ever meant anything to them. So when they found each other, it wasn’t easy to just simply let go when things got bad. No, they stuck it out. Because being together and being at odds was a hell of a lot better than not fighting and being completely alone again. 

That only made everything had happened hurt that much more. It was like a constant throb throughout his entire being, not just his body but inside too, like his very essence ached and mourned. Which was stupid to him. He doubted he had a soul left to grieve with after the things he’d done. 

His eyes went back to the suitcase. He was laying on his side, had been for some time. He’d spent a lot of time in bed lately, unsure of what else to do with himself. Besides, maybe if he got lucky, he’d be able to smell a little bit of Matt’s scent on the sheets.

He hadn’t shaven in at least a week and couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something that wasn’t either coffee or alcohol. He’d done nothing but wander around the apartment since it happened. He didn’t know why either, because every single thing reminded him of Matt in some way. It was enough to drive him mad, but he was that already, wasn’t he? And in his mind, it was a form of punishment. He deserved to live among these things, these memories, because he’d been too stupid and stubborn to appreciate Matt when he was here. Now he’d never have a chance to appreciate him again. 

They’d been fighting most of the night and Frank had honestly wanted nothing to do with him at that moment. Matt had coldly begun to pack everything of his that he could fit into a suitcase, one that Frank didn’t even know he owned, before informing him that he was going out and that when he returned, he was taking his things and leaving. He’d dressed in the suit then and left. That was the last time Frank had saw him.

They’d found his body by the river, his neck snapped and the rest of him worse for wear. The suit was gone, he was just Matt Murdock. Karen had called him. She and Foggy had already gone to see the body. It was definitely him. After that, the rest was a blur. He could remember a surge of rage, one that had carried him all over town, in a quest to get back the suit that had been stolen. Once he’d retrieved it, bloodied and battered himself, he’d opened Matt’s chest and stowed it inside, unable to look at it without feeling like he might get sick. 

The suitcase had been there ever since. Frank didn’t have the heart to move it or unpack it. Most of the time looking at it made him feel like he wanted to heave up whatever liquid breakfast he’d ingested that morning. The thought of unpacking it made his hands shake. It wasn’t his to unpack and that was all there was to it. 

He pointedly rolled over and turned away, tears stinging his eyes. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could imagine the sound of Matt coming through the door to retrieve it, instead of imagining the sound of his neck when it snapped.


End file.
